In 2014 I wrote a short story based on a meme that said, "Someone should write a book where the main character slowly falls in love with the reader." Someone challenged me to write a story with this thought in mind. Here is the answer to that challenge: The Mysterious Disappearance of Brandy Watters, Profusely Illustrated, 1642.

Brandy Watters walked from the office, where she worked, to the bank. Her brown graying hair was pulled back so as to be off her neck.

It was one of those glorious spring days in which the promise of summer reminded her of when she looked forward to the end of school. The sun filtered through the new green leaves and the breeze reminded her of traveling. She was looking forward to her road trip to Colorado in June.

Suddenly, she stopped. The old building she stood in front of had been built in 1904 and was one that she passed every day, but today there was something going on inside. She peered through the glass door and could see shelves being filled with old books. As she put her hand on the door handle, she noticed a sign; “'The Faded Cover Rare Books' will be open on May 25. We look forward to serving you.” Today was the 24th. She decided to go in the next day and spend as much time as she wanted.

She loved old books and old buildings. This new rare book store looked to be someplace she would love spending time. From what she saw peering in the door, she could see that the new owners had taken great care to keep the look and feel of the old building. The walls were rough brick with old movie posters dating back to the silent film era. She caught a glimpse of Casablanca, Gone with The Wind and a few old Buster Keaton films.

“Whatever you had planned isn’t going to be as fun as what we’ve got planned. See you about ten.”Steph. and Brandy had been friends since school. She had a way of leaving Brandy breathless every time she got an idea. Most of the time Brandy enjoyed her friend’s take charge personality, but sometimes it was annoying. This evening Brandy was a trifle annoyed. Her plans mattered too.

In the morning, Michael and Stephanie picked up Brandy and they enjoyed the day in the city, going to the Marshall farmer’s market, visiting the blooming gardens and then to The Golden Eagle for a late dinner. When she got home, she was glad she’d gone with her friends. It was a great time together.

On Memorial Day Monday, Brandy spent some time in a few antique stores, and then made her way to the new rare bookstore. The black sky looked as if all the depths of a raging ocean had evaporated into it all at once. Suddenly, the rain started coming down in sheets. Lightening flashed, with the thunder almost on top of her. Golf ball sized hail began to fall. Brandy dashed into The Faded Cover.

The first thing she noticed was that musty aroma of old books that seemed to always draw her in. It reminded her of her grandmother's library. The storm was just as well. It gave her an unneeded excuse to stay.“Hello?” she called out to the store keeper.

There was no answer. That seemed odd, but she supposed he was caught in the storm somewhere and would be back as soon as the hail let up. She was pleased to see that between the massive shelves there were often chairs and tables.

She began to peruse the shelves, when suddenly she noticed a book, The Mysterious Disappearance of Jonathan Wilson, Profusely Illustrated, 1642. Feeling drawn to the title, she opened it and found, in spite of the tattered cover, a book with magnificent black and white illustrations.

Settling in a nearby easy chair with an end table and lamp, she began to turn the pages. She stopped on the dedication page and chuckled. Someone had scrawled in ink a little poem.

Of this 17th century maledictionGentle reader wary be,It is more than just a fictionIf you would but believe.On a dark and stormy day,If you are reading these pages,They will hold you in their swayAnd imprison you for ages. Augustus Crabb, 1942

“Augustus must have really enjoyed this book,” Brandy said aloud to herself. Distant rumbling reminded her to check the windows to see what was happening outside. It was still raining heavily, although not hailing anymore.

She sat back down, picked up the book and momentarily wondered, again, where the shop keeper was. She turned the page to the first chapter and began to read,

“The summer of 1942…”

She furrowed her eyebrows and looked at the cover again. She’d not made a mistake. 1642 was the date, but how could it be that the opening lines were not only indicating 1942 but also written in the language of ‘42?

She read on, “…was glorious, even with the war. American Jonathan Wilson, a man of about forty and assigned to work with the French Resistance, was on his way to the little town of German occupied Rennes. He was a tall man with close cropped dark hair, graying at the sides and dark eyes. He stopped and looked in the sky, “Stop reading this book now.” he commanded.

Brandy rubbed her eyes and looked again. “You read right. Put this book down now and leave that bookstore. Don’t come back.”

Suddenly she was startled by a bolt of lightning followed by immediate peal of thunder that must have struck somewhere near the little shop. A tingling started in her feet and to her fingertips. She felt as if her hair stood out on end. Another brilliant flashing of light momentarily blinded her, a man’s face flashed instantaneously in the brilliant white light, and she rubbed her eyes.

Breathless, Jonathan Wilson found himself sitting in a chair with the cursed book in his hands. He dropped the loathsome volume. So he was free now, but she was trapped in spite of his efforts to warn her. He looked at the book lying at his feet. The title was now The Mysterious Disappearance of Brandy Watters, Profusely Illustrated, 1642.”

His memory went back to the day in 1942 when he picked up the book. Then it was titled “The Mysterious Disappearance of Marie Cildare, Profusely Illustrated, 1642”. So, did that mean the story changed every time someone new was caught? If that was the case, something had to be done to destroy this terrible book. The thought came to him that if he burned the book, it might help them get out, but how could he be sure? Would they all die? Maybe once it was destroyed they would be released.

He took the book to the back room, and set it on a table and then looked for matches. It didn’t take him long to find some, so he returned to the table where the book lay. Its front cover had flipped open to the title page. He looked twice at it, and instead of the title he expected he found, “If you burn me I will kill them.” Jonathan felt sick, dropping into a chair beside the table. He put his elbows on the table and his head in his hands. What was he going to do?

Slowly a thought began to form in his mind. He really knew what he had to do. He had to go back in. He groaned. Going back in on purpose was the last thing he wanted to do; especially since he knew that the next person to be freed would be the character who played Heinrick Muller, the head of the Gestapo in France. Breaking out of character to warn the woman of her danger had been difficult. Breaking out of the character of Muller was daunting, but it was possible. And maybe, since the story was changed, it would change who the evil character was… maybe to someone worse than Muller had been. He couldn’t let that keep him from what he knew he had to do, and he had to do it now.

When he picked up the book, still opened to the title page he found it had changed again. A loathsome bestial face appeared with red eyes. Both bared fangs and the horns on the top of its head were dripping blood.

Quickly, before his resolve failed, he turned to chapter three and began to read out loud. Distant thunder rumbled steadily growing louder and more intense, “Brandy Watters sat in the cold dark cell. She wasn’t sure what was about to happen. She heard the key in the lock turning. She faced the door, rather than have something unexpected coming up behind her. The door slowly opened…”

Suddenly Jonathan was startled by a bolt of lightning and immediate peal of thunder. A tingling started in his feet and to his fingertips. He felt as if his hair stood out on end. Another brilliant flashing of light momentarily blinded him, a man’s face flashed instantaneously in the brilliant white light, and Jonathan rubbed his eyes.

Heinrich Muller found himself in the back room of the bookstore. He dropped the loathsome volume on the table. “I’m free! But how? Wilson was supposed to be free next.”

He looked at the book on the table, momentarily feeling sorry for the people still trapped, but he backed slowly away from the book until he was in the main store and then he left quickly. It was a beautiful spring afternoon, and already the dreadful book was beginning to fade from his mind.

Brandy couldn’t figure out what had just happened. The last thing she felt she remembered was that she was reading a book, but her circumstances now didn’t bear witness to that. Someone was coming into the room through the door with a small window that opened into a hallway. She saw a sudden bright flash, and a man walked into the dank room carrying a large manila folder. He was tall with dark, cold eyes. His hair was graying a little, and was cut very close to his skull. He wore a black suit with a clean white shirt and black tie.

“Brandy Watters. My name is Jonathan Wilson. We have quite an extensive dossier on you.”

“I don’t understand why I’m here….”

“Come now Miss. Watters. There’s no use denying it. We already know you’ve been involved in the Resistance against the state. …”suddenly Jonathan Wilson stopped, he dropped the dossier, scattering papers everywhere. Brandy saw all the color flush from his cheeks as he collapsed to his knees, holding his head.

Still not knowing what she was doing there, Brandy’s natural concern for another person’s well-being kicked in and she rushed toward him, “Are you okay?”

Jonathan looked into her eyes with a look that told Brandy he was in terrible pain, but she also saw that he recognized her. She’d never remembered seeing this man before. His pain seemed to be worse and the only thing she thought to do was bang on the door, hoping that someone would hear.

“Help! Help!” she cried, beating on the door. No one was responding. “There’s something wrong with him!” she tried again.

“Really Miss Watters, you must try to control yourself.” Brandy turned around, finding the apparent fit had passed. The man’s eyes had that cold look she’d noticed before, but he was still very pale.

“As I was saying, we know you’ve been involved in the Resistance against the state. You are under arrest for sedition and espionage against our glorious Empire. We do not tolerate such actions that lead only to chaos. We must always obey the dictates of the Emperor and he does not tolerate treason.”

“Wait, where am I?”

“I think you know very well where you are. We captured you last night trying to sabotage the Marshall Oklahoma Munitions and Arms factory outside of Tulsa. You can’t tell me you don’t remember that. You killed one of my trusted aides.”

“I’ve never killed anyone.”

“No? Tell me, isn’t this your photograph?” Wilson opened the dossier and Brandy saw there was a photograph of her talking to a man on a street with trees and businesses. She’d never seen the street they were on before, nor had she ever seen the person she was talking to. It was quite obviously her photograph though. What was the biggest shock to her was that the date on the photograph was 2016.

“Yes, that’s me, but I’ve never seen that person before, nor have I seen that street.”

“Okay Miss Watters. I can see you are being uncooperative. We shall see how cooperative you will be after your interrogation. Remember, we have methods that will help you with your memory.”

Jonathan turned to leave the cell.

“Wait…”

“Yes. You wish to confess?”

“No. When you had that fit, you looked like you recognized me. I’ve never seen you before.”

A momentary look came over Wilson’s face; surprised by her question. It was as if he was remembering something, but it only lasted a fraction of a second.

“I don’t know what you are talking about. We will talk again, Miss Watters, but remember, next time our conversation won’t be as pleasant if you decide not to cooperate with us.”

“But I haven’t done anything wrong!”

Jonathan shut the door on Brandy, leaving the woman confused and frightened. He was frightened himself but didn’t want to show it. His prisoners and his guards could never see weakness in him or the fear he used as intimidation would be lost.

The fact was that the episode in the cell left him shaken. It was the first time anything like that happened. And it was the first time the concern for him she showed affected him. He had no doubt that she understood the difficult place she was in, and yet she genuinely cared that he was in trouble.

He seemed to hear a voice inside his head telling him he needed to let her go. Unfortunately he was used to ignoring that kind of voice, and he shoved it aside. He got back to his desk and began to write a report on Brandy.

Flipping through her dossier something didn’t seem right, but he couldn’t put his finger exactly on what was troubling him. The Brandy Watters he knew was defiant, this woman was confused. Was there a chance he got the wrong woman? Why did that make a difference? It never had before.

He felt dizzy again. He started to get up from his desk, but slipped and fell to the floor before getting off his chair. It was as if someone else was trying to take over his body. Agony and pain enveloped him and everything went black.

Jonathan woke up from the floor. Looking out the window, he saw it was pitch black outside. At first he wondered where he was, and then he suddenly remembered the book. Quietly he went back to the desk, took the keys from the drawer and then made his way back to Brandy’s cell.

When he stood at her door, he looked down the hall to the right and left, quietly turned the key and went in. Brandy was lying on the bed, but sat up as soon as he walked in.

Quickly he walked to her side, pulled a pair of handcuffs from his belt and said, “Quietly come with me,” before she had a chance to speak. They walked out the hall. Jonathan led them out the door of his headquarters toward his car.

When he opened the door she hesitated, “Where are we going?”

“Just get in and don’t ask questions.”

“Why should I? The last time you told me that our next talk wasn’t going to be pleasant. How do I know what you’re going to do?”

“You don’t know.” He pulled his gun, “get in now.”

Brandy obeyed. As soon as he got in the driver’s side he leaned over and unlocked her cuffs, then drove away. He wondered how he was going to explain what had happened and whether he would be able to stay out of the character the book had put him in. If so, how long?

“Miss Watters, what do you like to read?”

Brandy was beginning to think this guy was operating on fumes. First he scares her with an interrogation, then cuffs her and pulls a gun on her and then releases the cuffs? What was his game? “What?” she asked, too surprised to process the question.

“Just answer the question. What do you like to read?”

“Fiction. Mysteries. Anything good. I like old books.”

“Old books?”

“Yeah, before being in the cell, I’d thought I was reading an old book in a bookstore, but found myself in that cell. Now you’re asking me what kind of book I like reading. What’s going on?”

“We’re inside a story.”

“Everyone’s in a story.”

“No. Not that way. I was reading that same book. I found it in a bookstore in 1942.”

“Wait. What?”

“Okay. Let me take this slow… I’m not sure how much the book knows, but please try to understand. What was the weather like when you remember reading the book?”

“You’re nuts.” Brandy pulled herself as close to the passenger door as she could. This guy was absolutely crazy and she had to find a way to get away from him.

“Tell me. Was it storming outside when you were reading the book?”

“Yes,” she said, wanting to humor him until she could figure out what to do.

“Do you remember something that surprised you in the story?”

“Wait,” it was beginning to come back to her, “first the book started out ‘In the summer of 1942’ and I wondered what happened. The book was about someone’s disappearance in 1642. Then…wait, the character in the book was Jonathan Wilson. That was you? No. This is crazy.”

“I told you to put the book down, but it was too late.”

Jonathan pulled the car over, “a person can only escape when another is sucked in to take the other person’s place. I was next in line to be released and you took my place.”

“But how did you come back?”

“I took the place of the next guy, Heinrich Muller.”

“And Heinrich Muller was the bad guy. That’s why you looked like you recognized me when we were in that cell.”

“Yes. I came back to find a way to break the curse of this book.”

“If you were able to come back and we’re able to talk about it; does that mean the book doesn’t know everything?”

Brandy turned around and could see flashing lights coming their way. “What are we going to do?”

“I need to see what’s up. It may be that he’s not even after us. If we run, it’s sure to get his attention.” He told her while getting his gun ready and concealed.

The police car pulled in behind Jonathan. Jonathan watched through the rear view mirror as the police officer sat in his car for a few minutes. A thought came to Jonathan, “Quick, let me cuff you.”

She held her hands out and he snapped the cuffs on. Then he rolled down the window for the officer who was walking up to his window.

“Can I help you officer?” Jonathan asked, handing the cop his ID, “I didn’t think I was speeding.”

“No sir, you weren’t speeding, but it’s passed curfew. I need to ask what you’re doing out so late.” The officer looked at the ID, “Oh, I’m sorry sir. I didn’t realize you were secret police. The officer, who’d been polite enough already, was suddenly more respectful, which let Jonathan know they were still safe.

“Yes, I’m transporting a prisoner to another facility.” The officer shined his light at Brandy, who had her cuffed wrists in her lap so they could be seen.

“Isn’t it late to be transporting a prisoner?”

Jonathan quickly winked at the officer, “Special interrogation.”

“Please help me,” Brandy pleaded to the officer, “I didn’t do anything wrong….”

“Oh, I see. Well, I just needed to check. Thank you sir.” If the secret police wanted to give someone special interrogations, who was he to interfere?

“Thank you officer…?”

“Blake, sir.”

“Thank you officer Blake. I will certainly report your diligence.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Officer Blake handed Jonathan’s ID back to him and walked away. Jonathan watched the cop as he got into his car. Soon the cop pulled out and passed them by. When Jonathan was certain the police officer was gone, he took the cuffs off Brandy’s wrists.

“Nice touch.”

“Thanks…. Look!”

Jonathan looked where she was pointing up through the windshield of his car. He stared dumfounded at a huge billboard that was about a hundred feet away. The background was black with white letters that seemed to glow,

Only he who has reversed the change and of his own accord returnedThe same who has reverted to whom he was made to beCan liberate the other and help set the captive free.Seek for the Sword that Lives.

They looked at each other and then at the billboard.

“What does it mean?” Brandy asked, still staring at the billboard.

Jonathan was silent for a few minutes, staring up; thinking about all the events. Finally he turned to her and said, “I think it means that because I came back in the book to try to help, and I was able to break out of the character the book would have had me play I can do something to break the hold this book has on us. But I can’t figure out, ‘seek the sword that lives.’

Brandy thought a moment as well, “I think,” she responded slowly, “it might have something to do with the way my grandparents believed. They were Christians.”

“Christians? What does being a Christian have to do with it?”

“When I was in school, I sometimes spent summers at their house with my cousins. They took us to church.

There was a pastor who always started his sermons with a quote about a sword.” Brandy scowled, “I can’t remember it now.”

Jonathan pulled back out on the road and began to drive.

“Where are we going?”

“I don’t know, but driving is better than just sitting. We don’t want any more unwanted attention.”

After driving in silence for a while, Brandy put her hand on Jonathan’s arm. “There’s something I don’t understand,”

“What’s that?”

“If the book is evil, why did we get a message like that billboard?”

“Maybe it wasn’t meant for us?”

“But I think it was.”

“Maybe there’s something stronger than the book that forces it to help us?”

“If that is the case, there’s probably more help out there than we realize, but there’s something that concerns me.”

“What?”

“The evil part of the book won’t like that it’s being forced to help us. We need to be very cautious.”

“On the other hand, it might be that the book wants a good story and there isn’t a good story if the bad guys or the good guys always win.”

Brandy nodded her head, and then brightened, “Wait, that preacher said something about the Bible being a sword. Something about being ‘alive and active.’”

“The Sword that Lives!”

She smiled at him and at that moment something happened as they looked into each other’s eyes.

“I think we’re tired,” Jonathan mumbled after a moment, “Let’s go to my house. You can sleep in the spare bedroom.”

He turned down a residential street, turned again and headed back the way they’d come. Brandy sat quietly on the passenger side dozing while Jonathan continued to drive home.

When they arrived, he showed her the spare bedroom and he went to his. Neither of them had any trouble falling asleep.

Brandy awoke to the aroma of bacon and coffee. She straightened the wrinkles out of her shirt and made her way to the kitchen. She found that Jonathan seemed to like hiking and photography. There were pictures of mountain and desert trails on the walls, as well as trails high above an ocean vista where she could see the view for miles out to sea. She found Jonathan pouring a couple of mugs of coffee. Bacon and eggs were already cooked. They sat down to breakfast.

“I think we need go to a library.” he said.

“What? Why?”

“We might be able to find the answer in a library, because a library is about books.”

At that time, a knock came to the door. Jonathan scowled, “Go to the back bedroom.”

While Brandy scuttled away, Jonathan answered the door. It was the cop from the night before.

“Officer Blake. What can I do for you?”

“I reported the incident last night sir, and I’ve been ordered to take the prisoner back to the station and you are to report to the super.”

“Come on in, Blake, she’s in the back room. Just go on down the hall. It’s the second door on the right.”

Jonathan followed Blake, picking up a nearby walking stick by the door, raised it and swung, effectively knocking the officer unconscious.

“Did you kill him?” Brandy asked breathlessly.

Jonathan felt for the man’s pulse, “No. We have to find out what’s going on.”

“Do you think he’ll tell us?”

“I don’t know. We’ll just have to see when we’ve revived him.”

They got him into a chair and securely tied him with duct tape. Then Jonathan began to slap his face and shake him, “Blake! Wake up!”

Blake groaned, and looked up, but his eyes rolled back into his head again.

“You must have hit him harder than you thought.”

“No, hold on a minute,” Jonathan shook him again, “Blake, wake up!”

Finally Black began to regain consciousness. He strained at his bonds, opened his eyes, and tried to focus on Jonathan, but was having difficulty.

“What happened?”

“I whacked you on the head. How do you feel?”

“Like someone whacked me on the head.”

Jonathan glanced at Brandy, “Get him some water.” She left, coming back quickly with the water. Jonathan held it up to Blake’s lips, he drank.

“Why were you sent to pick up the prisoner?”

“I don’t know. They just ordered me to after I turned in my report.”

“Did it make sense to you?”

“No, not really.”

“Blake, listen to me carefully. I want you to think about your life. Have you always been here?”

“Yes…. You mean in Marshall?

“Yes, for starters. Think hard.”

“What’s going on?”

“Just think about your childhood. Did you grow up in Marshall?”

“No…I can’t…. no. It seems like I grew up in Indiana. I’ve never been to Indiana.”

“Listen, I think you’re trapped inside a book, forced to play a character role.”

“What are you talking about? You’re nuts, and you’re going to be in big trouble if you don’t let me go.”

Brandy and Jonathan looked at each other, and then both walked into the other room. “What do you think?” she asked.

“I think we need to leave him here.”

“All tied up?”

“Yes, I think so. When he doesn’t report in they will come looking for him and we’ll be long gone.”

“Are you going to hit him again?”

“No, but we have to do something to keep him from yelling.”

“What do you propose?”

“There’s always duct tape.”

“Ouch.”

“I don’t see any way around it.”

The two duct taped the man’s mouth closed, quickly took his keys, radio and cell phone and then disabled the land line and locked the door behind them. Blake mumbled a few expletives behind the duct tape and shot them an angry look as they left.

“You drive my car,” Jonathan said, handing her his keys “I’ll drive Blake’s. We’re going to leave town, and go to Tulsa to try and find out some answers. This town is too small and we need to get lost. Follow me and as soon as I find an isolated spot we’ll ditch Blake’s car.”

Brandy nodded, got into Jonathan’s car and pulled out of the drive and behind Jonathan as he drove down the street.

They were able to leave town safely, and soon Jonathan turned off the highway onto a dirt road. When he found a suitable clump of trees beside a small pond, he syphoned the gas from Blake’s car, and filled his own tank with it. Then they pushed the car off a small cliff, in the water. It quickly sank.

They got back into Jonathan’s car and drove back to the highway.

“I hope he’ll be okay.” Brandy said thoughtfully.

“I’m sure he will be. It might be different if we left him outside, but he’s safe enough in the house.”

As they drove into the Tulsa city limits near downtown, Jonathan suddenly looked down, “Did you turn on the radio?”

“No. I didn’t,”

“Listen…”

“…such hard livin’ in this cold, cold world, people it’s time to believe…”

“Time to believe? Time to believe what?”

“I don’t know. We’ve got to find a library.”

“Is there one downtown?”

“Yes. That’s the one I’m making for. But we’re going to park a long way from it. I’m not easy in my mind about this car. You know Blake took our tag down last night and they might have found him by now. We still don’t know what the book is doing in all this. We’re being given hints, but what has been given to the people who think they’re living real lives?”

“I don’t know. Are we going to abandon the car?”

“I think so.”

“What will we do for transportation?”

“Look. Here’s the library. We’ll have to figure transportation out later.” He drove about a mile away from thelibrary, parked the car in the local hospital’s parking lot. They left the car and started on their way back.

At first they walked in silence, but soon they began to talk as they walked by businesses and people passing them on the street. It seemed surreal to think these people were either living a delusion or were not real at all. None of the people looked any different than people of the real world.

Finally they arrived at the library. Just before they were about to mount the stairs to the door, Brandy grabbed Jonathan’s sleeve, then whispered, “I think we’re on the right track. Above the door, emblazoned in bronze and catching the afternoon sun were the words, “Ask and it shall be given to you, seek and you will find, knock and the door will be opened.”

“What does that mean? Who are we supposed to ask?”

“I don’t know.”

They quickly entered the library and Brandy led the way to the desk, “Excuse me,” she asked a librarian,

“Where do those words come from that are over the door?”

“That comes from Matthew 7:7 in the Bible. It’s quoting Jesus Christ. The builders of this library…”

“Thank you very much. Can you tell me where the Bibles are?”

“Yes, isle 3 over there. You will find it under Ancient Literature.”

“Thank you.”

Jonathan and Brandy went to isle 3, and soon they found several Bibles with several translations. Just as Brandy reached her hand up to take one of the Bibles, a tremendous earthquake shook the building. Books began to fall off the shelves and onto their heads.

“Under the table, quick!” Jonathan yelled, dragging Brandy with him. She made a lunge, grabbed the Bible and followed Jonathan’s lead. Both were shaken to their feet, and rolled beneath the table just as a bookshelf came crashing down. If they’d not been under the table they would have been crushed.

Finally the floor stopped shaking. Brandy and Jonathan were breathless. Brandy pulled the Bible out from under her, showing Jonathan who quickly gathered her up in his arms and kissed her impulsively.

Before she could be embarrassed by the kiss, they both saw the feet of several men at the front desk. They slunk out from beneath the table, and behind the bookshelf that was still leaning over. With Bible in hand they made for the emergency door.

“Won’t there be an alarm?” Brandy whispered.

“Yes. As soon as we leave the building we have to run. Didn’t I see a grove of trees behind the library?”

“Yes; but is it thick enough to hide us?”

“We have to chance it.”

“One, two, three,” he mouthed.

As soon as the latch was moved from position the appalling siren blared out the alarm, and Brandy and Jonathan ran for the trees as fast as they could without looking behind them or to either side. It was half a football field at least before the beginning of the trees. While they could hear the sharp explosion of gunfire behind them and feel the imagined shock of a bullet piercing their minds as readily as it would penetrate their back; they never actually heard bullets whine passed their ears.

They made it to the trees, but could hear the men behind them searching the woods.

“We've got to lose them before we can look in the Bible. Follow me closely.” Jonathan whispered close to her ear.

As it turned out, the woods were much more dense than they'd looked from the library. With Brandy close behind him, they doubled back and around where it sounded like the men were following. They took a sharp turn away from a path that wound through the trees and so headed west from the library.It was about five in the afternoon and they'd not had any food since breakfast. Brandy's stomach growled loudly.

Jonathan stopped a moment, “yeah, me too. We will as soon as we can.”

Brandy nodded.

They snaked their way through the woods for another thirty minutes. It was dark by the time they came out onto a residential street that had a church and several houses. Jonathan made for the church. The windows were lit.

“This is an alternate reality. Do you think we can find help from a church?” Brandy asked while they stood for a moment outside the door.

“I don't know but we're going to have to try somewhere. I think we need to operate on the premise that the book wants a good story, so it's not going to interfere. So far we've been given clues to help us. Let's take the risk. We need something to eat, anyway.”

The church was a simple country Baptist church that the city had grown around. It had stained glass windows, a red roof and white walls in serious need of painting.

As they walked in, they noticed a young man with long hair playing what sounded like an old hymn on the piano. The door shut softly behind them. The pianist must have noticed the movement, because he stopped playing, and with a mischievous smile he greeted the couple.

“Hi! I'm Everette.” he said getting up from his piano and walking to them.

“Hello. I'm Jonathan, this is Brandy. Are you the pastor?” Jonathan asked while holding out his hand. The man shook it and shook Brandy's.

The young man laughed, “No. They just let me write music here sometimes. Is there something I can do for you? The pastor won't be back until tomorrow.”

About that time Jonathan's stomach growled.

“Well, there's one thing I can do. Hungry?”

“Kind of.” Brandy responded, cautiously, “but we're also looking for some information and we think it's in this.”She showed the young musician the Bible she held.

“Well, I can tell you, you're asking a lot. That's the living sword there. You can't get more from any other book!”

Jonathan and Brandy looked at one another, “Yes, we were told we needed to look for the sword that lives. So, we're on the right track. We're kind of trapped.”

“I can tell you, that is the only key to freedom you'll ever find; but come back to the kitchen. The church had a pot luck today and there's still some food left.”

They followed Everette to the back of the church and in the small kitchen they found several buckets of chicken, potato salad and a couple of desserts.

“So, what is it you want to know?”

“It's kind of complicated.”

“The Bible is a complicated book.”

“Should we tell him?” Brandy asked as Jonathan hesitated.

“Yeah, I think we should....”

“But the book....”

“We're going to have to chance it.”

Jonathan looked the young man in the eye. “Do you believe in the supernatural?”

“Yes.” Everette smiled with a sparkle in his eye. To both Jonathan and Brandy it was like he had some secret he thought they'd enjoy. While it unsettled them, it didn't seem to them like he was going to spring something unpleasant on them.

“We're not from here...” Jonathan began with a little hesitation, but soon found himself telling the story easily. Everette had a way of making both he and Brandy feel completely at home, as if he'd known them all their lives. When Jonathan came to his theory about the book helping them because it wanted a good story, he was surprised that Everette didn't act skeptical.

“It sounds crazy, I know,” Jonathan finished.

“Not if you've read this book.” Everette said, while placing his hand on the Bible and surprising the couple, “Would you believe that in this book, a donkey talks, people walk across a sea on dry land, and a man is raised from the dead?”

Brandy and Jonathan were unable to reply. Raised from the dead was a little hard to believe.

“But the most amazing thing,” Everette continued, “is that God loves us so much that Jesus died to pay for our sins. All the wrong things we have done, all of us have done were put on him and then he was killed because that is the penalty that was called for.”

“That's a little hard to believe. How could one man pay for everyone’s wrong actions?” Jonathan asked. He'd heard enough about Christianity to write it off. Brandy, on the other hand, knew. She'd chosen to walk a different way than her grandparents. She didn't say anything. She was beginning to have doubts about her choice.

“The only way one man could take our place is by living a perfect life; no mistakes. And then he would take all our mistakes on himself. We all need help from someone outside of our story, someone bigger than us. Jesus is that someone.”

“So what's the point anyway?” Jonathan asked, ignoring Everette’s comments. It was almost exactly what they’d talked about in the car last night.

“The whole point is that God the Father, who created us, wants to have a relationship with us. He wants to reestablish what he intended before the first man and woman ever decided to go their own way. He loves us all so much he'd die for us. And he did. Know what else? Because he lived his life in perfect submission to his and our Father, he came back to life and has made a way for us to be with him. There's no one else and nothing else that will bring us to God.”

Jonathan rose from the table, “Thanks for the dinner, but I think we've gone off track. It's crazy to think someone can come back to life. I can't see how the Bible can help us beat the book we're in. No one believes this stuff anymore. We're much too intelligent.”

“I believe it. Which sounds crazier, my story or yours?”

“Your story.”

“Okay, but I would reconsider. If the book is evil like you think, it's going to take a stronger book to overcome it.”

“Goodbye. No offense, but I think this is a trick by the book. We're going to follow a different track.”

“Oh, one more thing to consider....” Jonathan and Brandy stopped and looked back toward Everette, “As far as I can see trusting in Jesus, who is the Word of God is your only way out. If you don't trust him to help you out of this, you'll be doomed to play this story out over and over again.”

Jonathan and Brandy both stopped and looked at Everette, “what do you mean?” she asked.

“Think about it. The book can be read over and over again and the end never changes. How long will you be stuck in the book only to live it out over and over again?”

“Thank you,” Jonathan took Brandy's hand. They walked out the door, but as they walked out, a bright light shown on them, blinding them.

“Halt!” someone they couldn't see commanded, “This is the police.”

Jonathan quickly grabbed Brandy, kissed her, whispered, “Run!” and took off from the side of the church.

Suddenly two shots were fired, finding their mark quickly. Brandy and Jonathan fell and did not move.

Soon they were surrounded by the police officers. One man bent down and searched for the pulse of Brandy first, and then Jonathan. He looked up at his supervisor, “They're both gone.”

Brandy couldn’t figure out what had just happened. The last thing she felt she remembered was that she was reading a book, but her circumstances now didn’t bear witness to that. Someone was coming into the room through the door with a small window that opened into a hallway. She saw a sudden bright flash, and a man walked into the dank room carrying a large manila folder. He was tall with dark, cold eyes. His hair was graying a little, and was cut very close to his skull. He wore a black suit with a clean white shirt and black tie.

“Brandy Watters. My name is Jonathan Wilson. We have quite an extensive dossier on you.”

“I don’t understand why I’m here….”

“Come now Miss. Watters. There’s no use denying it. We already know you’ve been involved in the Resistance against the state. …”suddenly Jonathan Wilson stopped, he dropped the dossier, scattering papers everywhere. Brandy saw all the color flush from his cheeks as he collapsed to his knees, holding his head.….

Author

Coleen Frazer-Hambrick is a writer and photographer who lives in Oklahoma with her husband. They have raised three boys and now have four grandboys. Along with writing and photography, Coleen and her husband are active members of a Wesleyan church.